


Fall, Fall, Fall

by GretchenSinister



Category: Guardians of Childhood & Related Fandoms, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Cavity shipping - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21525982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GretchenSinister/pseuds/GretchenSinister
Summary: Original Prompt: "Books and movie backstories crossoverSomehow an AU Pitchner (where he never became Pitch, or earlier in his life, before he became Pitch) ends up in the RoTG film verse, where he’s quite taken by Toothiana… Until he finds out she’s a Queen.And compared to his lower status as General, being a Queen is way too important, so he backs off.Meanwhile Toothiana started off completely Not Interested in Pitchner’s flirting, to being okay, to enjoying it, only for it to shut completely off.So they dance around each other, trying not to admit that they liked the flirting, with Tooth unsure why it stopped, and Pitchner feeling that he’s too lowly for a Queen.And the others just want them to figure out their feelings before Pitchner goes back to wherever he came from, and they’re both left eternally wondering “what if…”"Alternate universe: Toothiana is crowned queen of somewhere on an out-of-the-way planet back in the Golden Age. She meets a General during her coronation celebrations. They dance.(I made myself sad with this one.)
Relationships: Kozmotis Pitchiner/Toothiana
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5
Collections: The Kozmotis Collection





	Fall, Fall, Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr on 8/11/2013.

Toothiana recognizes Pitch Black the first time she sees him, even if no one else does. As he swings weapons made of shadow and leaps between spots of darkness with a reckless grace and total trust in his ability to do so, she remembers. She remembers a handful of gemlike moments, and when he calls her “queen” in a mocking tone, she remembers one above all the rest. But she does not tell anyone else, for she is the Guardian of her own memories as well as others’. She would not like to risk damaging this one any more than it has already been damaged by the shadow scythe arcing near her head.  
  


* * *

  
  
Her coronation celebration will last for a month, and includes a massive festival open to all her people as well as anyone from any other constellation who happens to be passing through. The nonstop party is filled with people and creatures of all shapes and sizes, and she cannot resist leaving the more ordered events in the inner chambers of her palace for the kaleidoscopic joy of the celebration in the grounds and gardens. It’s easy to do and no one really minds. She buys a feathered mask to complete her costume and dances and watches puppet shows and eats fried dough dipped in sweet rosewater with everyone else.  
  
She is not yet used to being called queen.  
  
In this particular memory, she’s going back to a broad, flat bridge over a sparkling, shallow stream, where a few nights ago she met a man who said the most absurd things while wearing the most absurd military costume. (Of course, since he’s been wearing it for the past five nights, she’s beginning to suspect it’s not actually a costume.)  
  
When she arrives, he’s there, and he smiles. “My woman of mystery returns. Are you then, a spirit of this bridge? After all, I have only met you here.”  
  
She tosses her head. “Really, General,” she says (for that is what she has nicknamed him, and he has not objected), “it would make more sense for you to be the spirit of this bridge, for you are always here before me. And I, as you’ve surely observed, come from somewhere else.”  
  
“From fairyland,” he says, his smile once again softening the sharply handsome planes of his face.  
  
“Of course,” she replies. “But tell me, why _are_ you always here before me?”  
  
“I care not for crowds.” He glances carelessly over the trees and flowers around them before looking back at her. “And I do believe this is the most beautiful spot in the garden.”  
  
“That doesn’t answer my question,” she says, trying out her imperial tone on him.  
  
He raises an eyebrow. “Very well then, your highness. The first time it was by accident, and afterwards I did not wish you to observe the toll I have paid in the war so far.” He taps his fist against his right leg. “You should have seen me as a young man. I daresay I would have put even your flying dancers to shame.”  
  
“The war? You mean you really are in it?”  
  
He looks surprised. “I thought you had recognized me when you started calling me General.” He bows. “General Kozmotis Pitchiner, at your service.”  
  
“Sorry, I thought you were in costume.” Toothiana grins. “We’re rather out of the way here. The war hasn’t touched us much.”  
  
“Be glad.” Kozmotis says, taking more time now to look around the garden, lush and peaceful and strung with tiny lights, the brighter revelries fading into the distance. “But the tides seem to have turned in our favor, and when my patrol ship was near here and we heard about the coronation celebrations, I decided that I and my crew could afford to spend some time participating in the joyous occasion.”  
  
“And has it been to your liking?” Toothiana asks.  
  
“Very much so,” he says, looking at her again. “In fact, I think it has been nearly perfect. Yet one thing still remains.”  
  
“And what is that?” And then he makes the most absurd suggestion of all.  
  
“Why, for you to dance with me, my woman of mystery. I believe we can just hear the music from the rose pavilion as we stand here.”  
  
“But your leg?”  
  
“We will dance—slowly,” he says, and Toothiana suddenly thinks that maybe he’s not so absurd after all.  
  
“As you wish, then,” she says, glad that her mask covers her warm cheeks as they step towards each other and he places one of her hands on his shoulder and one of his on her waist. He holds her other hand lightly and she recognizes this dance as one she was perfunctorily taught as a half-grown girl. It’s something more suited to the galactic center and nothing she thought she would ever need to remember how to do.  
  
“This is—ah—one of the more common dances where I’m from.” She looks up from his chest and thinks that she can see a faint blush spreading across the knife-blades of his cheekbones, divided by his large aquiline nose, which, though odd, strikes her as charming now. “It’s very simple—I mean, for you, if you would, er, let me lead.” He chuckles, very softly. “I’m sorry if any of that sounded strange. I’ve been at space too long.”  
  
“Start dancing,” she says. “I can let you lead in this.”  
  
And slowly, carefully, he begins the dance. She doesn’t know if it’s normally done this way, with both partners so close, or if they’re dancing with their hands so heavy on each other so that she can help support him on his bad leg. She does know that the pattern they step to doesn’t match the music from the rose pavilion, because she can hear Kozmotis humming a different song. It rumbles in his chest, and well…she is the queen. Surely she can do this. She rests her cheek against him, to feel that strange song.   
  
It, and his heart, skip a beat or two.  
  
The pattern of the dance gets smaller and smaller until they are merely swaying in the center of the bridge over the sparkling stream. “I think we’ve stopped dancing,” he says softly, and she closes her eyes and nods.  
  
He gently lets her go and steps back, avoiding placing any weight on his right leg. “When the dance ends, the gentleman will bow,” he says. As he does so, he tries to make it a little more elaborate than he should, and he stumbles, falling to the knee of his good leg with a hiss of pain.  
  
Tooth rushes forward to help him up. “Are you all right?”  
  
He looks up at her. “Just a little fall.” She could swear the stars are reflected in his golden eyes. “And not, perhaps, the most dangerous fall I have suffered tonight.” He allows her to lift him up and guide him back to the railing of the bridge. When he is standing on his own again, he turns to her. “Will you grace me with your name, woman of mystery? I know I am an old man, and damaged. I am even a widower, with a child. I may be killed in combat at any time. But I would like to know who you are. I would like to be able to see you beyond this enchanted garden.”  
  
She looks out over that garden. The enchantment might be about to break. But she is a queen. Surely she could cast it again. “I thought you recognized me when you called me ‘your highness’,” she lies. She removes her mask. “I am Toothiana, newly crowned Queen Toothiana.”  
  
She doesn’t see the stricken look that crosses his face. Reaching back to lightly touch his hand, she half-turns and murmurs, “If I do not see you in the palace tomorrow, I hope still to see you on this bridge.” Smiling, she wraps her fingers around his and lifts his hand to her mouth, kissing the knuckles.  
  
She dares anyone to tell her she’s wrong for untying the back of her dress and flying back to the palace.  
  
That was the last time she had seen General Kozmotis Pitchiner.  
  


* * *

  
  
When she watches Pitch Black move, cured as anyone could be cured by corruption, a fiercer smile on his distinctive profile than she had ever seen on those festival nights, she knows that General Pitchiner had been telling the truth. As a young man, he would have put even her flying dancers to shame.  
  
Now, her only shame is that he fell without anyone to help him fly up again.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes and comments from Tumblr:
> 
> [Kozmotis isn’t really old, he just feels that way. Poor silly Koz.]
> 
> pretzel-log1c reblogged this from gretchensinister and added:  
> PROMOTES


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